


"I Am My Beloved's..."

by chele20035



Category: Hunger Games - Fandom, Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Christmas Eve, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 15:54:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5546060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chele20035/pseuds/chele20035
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when you run into your ex-boyfriend's bakery on a too wet Christmas Eve?</p>
            </blockquote>





	"I Am My Beloved's..."

**Author's Note:**

> “I am my beloved’s and he is mine…”
> 
> As always, thank you norbertsmom for all that you do! 
> 
> I wrote this as part of titania’s “Yuletime in Panem” over on tumblr. Enjoy.

“Damn it,” I swear, as the cold blob of snow slides down my neck. After the awful day I barely survived, plus finding out that I was going to be spending Christmas alone, I find myself blinking back tears. I slip into the door of the closest shop without noticing which one, and try to reach the snow that is now sliding down my back. I reach around and grab the bottom of my shirt and pull the tail away from me, until I hear something hit the floor. I can’t stop the shiver that runs down my spine, especially after seeing the golf-ball sized snowball on the floor. 

I slowly look around, and somewhere between relief and horror, I realize that I’m standing in the doorway of my ex-boyfriend’s bakery and he is right over there watching me from behind the counter with that stupid eyebrow raised. You know, the same one that either makes me want to kiss him, or smack it off his face. 

Another quick glance shows me that we are the only two in the front of the bakery, so I let myself breathe a sigh of relief. “Hi. Do you have a towel? I need to wipe up the clump of snow—“

My breath catches when Peeta comes around the counter heading right for me. Even with just a glance, I can tell that he hasn’t forgiven me. He stops in front of me, with the towel he usually keeps tucked in the waist of his apron in his hands. Just the way he is standing there, with that stern expression on his face, reminds me of all the times he would tie me up to his antique, wrought iron bed. His deep baritone dances along my nerves when he says,, “Hello Katniss. What are you doing on my side of town?”

No longer able to meet the question in his gaze, I look down to his hands—oh those hands! I try not to let myself think about how much I miss his touch—and take the towel from his hands. I don’t want to admit that I still come over here, on his street, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. So instead I say, “I just had to stop at the hardware store. The snow distracted me.” I steal a look at his face, and can’t read what I see there. I hand him back the rag, and re-shoulder my bag. “I didn’t mean to barge in- I should be going—“

“Katniss,” he interrupts me. This time, when I look into his eyes, I can see how much he has, well everything. How much he has been hurting, how much he has missed me, how much he wants me, and it steals my breath. He steps forward, and I retreat until my back hits the front door. 

He reaches, not for me, but for the lock. I feel him turn the latch until it clicks into place and I’m unable to take my eyes off of him. He leans into me, and I try to catch my breath. Instead of helping me, he leans closer, and takes the rest of it from my lungs when he nudges me with his nose, asking permission. I grant it when I lean into him, letting him find his home again when he kisses me. 

He touches me no where else, but  me, who presses myself  him. I let my fingers find the trail to his curls, and he moans into my mouth when I tug on  to bring him even closer. It’s him who stops the kiss so he can growl, “I’m not letting you go again.”

I nod, and my tears that I’ve cried so many times over the past couple of months come back to me. It was stupid really, what happened. He mentioned moving in with him, to his apartment right above this bakery, since my lease was about to expire. I stopped calling and texting him that next day. I choke out a garbled, “I’m sorry, Peeta—“

He silences me with his kiss and  one of those that leaves me breathless. With a finger under my chin, he nudges my  up, so I can look at him. “I mean it, Katniss. I belong to you, and you belong to me.” He gives me the lightest of kisses before he says again, “Please, don’t leave me again.”

I shake my head. “Never again—“ 

He interrupts me with a quick kiss before he picks me up. I wrap my legs around his waist and he takes off towards the kitchen. He stops one more time before he goes through the swinging door to look at me with a silent question in his eyes. I realize it wasn’t that soggy snowball that brought me in here but my heart, that had tired of longing for him. I was not prepared to live without him again. I try to reassure him, “I promise from now on it’s you and me. I don’t want to have to even try to live without you again.”

He smirks. “That’s what I was hoping you were going to say.” And nudges the door open. Instead of going straight up to his apartment, he stops at the pastry case. I can't see the ones the picks out before he grabs my hand. Together, we head up the back stairs. When we reach the landing at the top of the stairs, he pauses. 

The dim light from the kitchen reaches his eyes, making the blue of his Carolina blue eyes, a dark story blue and in those depths I can see everything that is in his heart. This time, instead of scaring me, it makes me want to stay here beside him forever. 

The door opens, and I follow him into the cozy space that is his home. The overstuffed couch, sitting next to a littered and worn coffee table, are still where I last saw them. Nothing is different really, except for the corner where he paints. Many a night I would wake up to him painting like a madman, to be able to glimpse a piece of heaven when he was finished with his art. I see many more canvases piled up and I ache, wanting to go look at his new art. 

I watch him set those things- he still won’t let me see what they are- down in the kitchen while, I stand beside the couch. He doesn’t keep me waiting for long, before he  returns to me. he takes my purse from my hand, and then helps to take my coat off. 

“You belong to me, and I belong to you,” he whispers again against my lips, before he kisses me again. This time, I put all of the longing, the missing, my heart into this kiss. I’m still not sure what happens, but in a glorious mess of clothes, limbs and giggles we are soon naked. I can’t help but to worry a moment when he steps away from me. My smile returns when he crooks his finger at me and I follow him to his bed.

It’s a magnificent wrought iron piece that he found on a curb one day, waiting for the garbage truck. He sanded it and painted it, bringing it back to life, and not for the first time, I feel like that bed. Even now, his touch is bringing life back to me and I can’t keep the happy tears from my eyes at his touch. He pauses once again and looks at me with worry . “What’s wrong, Kitten?”

I shake my head, and step into his waiting arms. Pressing a kiss to his chest, I murmur, “I’ve missed you so. Don’t let me go again.” 

He answers me when he tilts my chin up and promises me, “Never again.” He kisses my temple and asks, “Can I have you?”

I throw my arms around his neck. I start to plant light kisses along his jaw, teasing him when I get close to his ears, even kissing his nose. His chuckle is the sweetest sound I’ve heard in a long time. “Yes, you can have me, only if you want me forever.”

He finds my teasing lips, growling against them, “Always.” I’m not sure who starts touching first, but in the end it doesn’t matter. I’m grabbing his ass; he’s cupping my breast. We land on the bed in a glorious mess. “Are you still on the pill?” He whispers in my ear before he finds his way to my nipple. 

I run my fingers through his curls, those wonderful blond curls that I’ve missed so much. I moan a breathless, “Yes,” before I’m arching my back, trying to get even more of my breast into his mouth. All of a sudden he is on his knees, dragging the head of his dick through my wetness making me pant with want. “I need you,” I tell him.

He pushes inside of me, stealing the rest of my breath when he does. He leans forward so I can grab a hold of him, and we start the dance as old as time. The need and the want leaves us breathless as we come together. He collapses on top of me, and starts to move off of me, but I say, “No—stay,” as I pull him back on top of me. He feels so good as he rests his head on my breast and wraps his arms around my waist. I tuck him under my chin, and begin to play with those curls that I love so much. And just like that, on the day before Christmas Eve with the snow falling outside, I find my love again.


End file.
